


Sharpen My Bones

by collie



Series: Someone Else's Angels [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Table Sex, light blood play, this wasn't meant to be a series thing but its turning into one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' world stopped spinning for a little while and everything centered on him and Peter, and for that he was oddly appreciative. For awhile, maybe this could be his eye of the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharpen My Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 3A. Takes place immediately following episode 3x08 'Visionary'.
> 
> Dedicated to both [Nixy](http://convoluted.nixy.org/) and [Katie](http://haleashes.tumblr.com/). You bitches. I'm sorry I can't write shorter porn.

It was very late and Cora had gone. It was still raining a bit, and Peter didn't especially care why or where she'd gone, but he was a little glad.

Sure, she was family and that was great and all, but he really didn't appreciate the way she looked at him most of the time. It was the same way that Derek looked at him, but Cora hadn't earned the right to glare. She _still_ hadn't told anyone where she'd been or how she escaped the fire. Peter _still_ didn't trust her, and that was saying a lot. But he figured he knew more about deception and manipulation than any of the rest of these kids combined, so they really should give him a little more credit.

Peter deserved a little more respect. After all, he'd been a good guy lately, right? Doing good things and giving a shit. Helping out and all that. Just because no one else was open-minded enough to appreciate his kind of 'help', that wasn't Peter's fault.

Now, Stiles understood. Well, as much as he could. Well, no, he really didn't, but neither Stiles or Peter cared as long Peter could grab a fistful of the kid's soft hair (it really was a good choice, growing it out) and slowly fuck his mouth, and as long as Stiles could concentrate as that sweet ache in his jaw and the way he almost lost his breath each time the slick tip of Peter's cock nudged against his uvula.

Stiles liked the choke; the way he felt just a little bit used. It made him feel both unimportant and insignificant, but also strangely precious and special. But most of all he didn't feel overwhelmed. He didn't have to think. And after the glut of information Peter had metaphorically shoved down his throat earlier tonight, it felt fucking primal and _perfect_ to have something _physical_ shoved down his throat, instead.

Stiles' world stopped spinning for a little while and everything centered on him and Peter, and for that he was oddly appreciative. For awhile, maybe this could be his eye of the storm.

–

Stiles was on his knees. The thin rug beneath really didn't do much to cushion, but that was fine. The pain, discomfort, was all part of this... whatever it was. It hadn't been long enough for the scabs on his back to fall off before he was in it again, and though a small part of him wished Derek were here, because Peter still scared him, he supposed he indulged that fear just as much as he indulged the pain.

For Stiles, these days, pain and fear walked hand-in-hand with his every day.

"Unzip your jeans, Stiles," Peter said gruffly, rocking his hips back and pulling hot, hard flesh along Stiles' lips, leaving just the swollen head in the boy's mouth as he palmed over the back of Stiles' head. With a soft whine and a light suck, Stiles complied, dropping long, slender fingers to spider over the front of his jeans, almost shaking in his eagerness to loosen his aching dick from its confines as he dragged his tongue over the tip of Peter's cock.

"Feel free to jerk off at your leisure," Peter drawled in that infuriatingly lazy way of his, blunt nails scratching at Stiles' scalp like he was a treasured pet as his thighs tensed, his erection twitching and throbbing gently against the kid's lips and tongue. "But if you come before I do, we're just going to have to do this _all_ over again."

Stiles groaned hard around Peter's cock as he wriggled, shoving his jeans and boxers down over his hips until they caught at where his thighs rested against his calves. Far enough. He was suddenly faced with a choice; did he get himself off as quickly as he could, not knowing what the punishment would entail, or did he oblige Peter and follow the rules, enjoying the safe play?

It was like what Coach was talking about in Econ awhile back; risk versus reward. Was the risk worth the bigger gain, or- wait, why the _hell_ was he thinking about Coach right now? What a fucking boner-killer.

Stiles wrinkled his nose before lifting his eyes to look at Peter, his tongue firming and pressing up against the underside of Peter's cock and stroking slowly, swirling back and forth against the soft ridge where the head met the shaft. The wolf stared down at Stiles, lips parted slightly as he breathed, and though his lidded eyes were naturally blue, Peter didn't bother holding back his base desires and urges, allowing his eyes to shift from the pale, glassy blue to the brilliant steel as they pleased; as his pulse quickened and greedy lust swam his veins.

A few errant strands of hair hung curled against Peter's forehead, betraying his currently neat hairstyle and reminding Stiles of the wavy mop the former Alpha had once sported. He wondered, idly, why Peter cut it.

“You are so good at this,” Peter breathed huskily, slipping one hand down to drag fingertips along Stiles' cheek, tracing over the freckles there, before moving to thumb over Stiles' stretched lower lip and giving a low rumble in his throat as he brushed his fingers down along his own shaft. “You practice on anyone I know?” he asked, smirking and quirking an eyebrow.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and reached a hand up, smacking Peter hard on the hip as he sucked the older man back in deep, his hand grabbing the hip he'd just slapped and holding Peter as his lips slid tight along the length of the older man's cock, Stiles' nostrils flaring as he sucked in air through his nose, trying not to choke as he swallowed Peter down as deep as he could. Even if it was all he could get right now, he enjoyed the smug satisfaction of making the wolf hiss and grunt, the former Alpha's head tipping back as his hips jerked and he had to curl his hand around the base of his own cock, pressing against the prominent vein that ran along the underside to control his own pleasure.

“Brat,” Peter muttered, though his tone was strangely laced with affection. “Alright, that's enough,” he half-growled as impatience crept in, too, and Stiles once again felt self-satisfaction curl in his chest as he slowly pulled his mouth off of Peter's cock and made a show of wiping his flushed, swollen lips, having not even touched himself once yet.

Peter tugged his shirt off and shoved his jeans down completely, not even giving Stiles a moment to admire the view before his hands were on Stiles' upper arms, dragging him to his feet and shoving his hoodie off and tugging at the tee-shirt he wore underneath.

“Why do you wear so many layers?” Peter asked as he stripped the kid, sounding lightly annoyed before he turned Stiles around and marched him over to the table they'd spent the better part of the evening all talking around. Stiles did his best impression of a guy who couldn't actually walk with all the blood in his head currently residing in his dick. He only tripped over his feet once, so... accomplishment.

“You have a nice body for a kid your age,” Peter continued as he grabbed Stiles by the back of the neck and unceremoniously bent him over the table, pressing his cheek to the cold, hard surface. “You should show it off more.”

“Thanks..?” Stiles blushed at both the compliment and the feeling of being so exposed; he could feel the heat from his cheeks bouncing back at him from the smooth surface of the table, and he knew his shoulders and the back of his neck were tinged pink. He licked his lips around a soft sound in his throat as Peter kicked his legs apart – no, really, he _literally_ kicked at Stiles' ankles until the Stiles obliged and spread his legs indecently wide – before reaching down between them and palming Stiles' balls.

"Mmnn, _fuck_ ," Stiles gasped and grasped the edges of the table, his slender hips lifting slightly off the table as he rolled to his toes, rocking back and greedily attempting to get more of that touch. He just wanted more. Stiles had never been with a girl, and he still didn't think he was gay, despite whatever this was happening here, but all he knew is that he felt good right now and that it was thinking that always got him into trouble.

“Has anyone ever eaten your ass?” Peter asked as conversationally as one would ask about the damn weather, cocking his head as he watched the view from behind; the way Stiles' toes scrabbled against the cold concrete floor as he attempted to rock against Peter's hand, desperate for more friction, more touch. The way his skin flushed even deeper pink at Peter's question, and the way he craned his neck so he could turn to give Peter a comically wide-eyed look, mouth hanging open in that catching-flies way that only Stiles could make endearing.

“I didn't think so,” Peter said, his eyes actually crinkling at the corners as he smiled – crinkling! - because he was genuinely enjoying himself right now. “The other night with Derek, before me; that was your first time, wasn't it?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles muttered as he turned back to smush his face against the table, breathing hotly against the surface, maybe half-hoping he'd suffocate on his own carbon dioxide before Peter could ask any more horrifying questions while _okay that was a thumb rubbing against his asshole_.

“Oh, stop being embarrassed,” Peter said loftily, as if he hadn't just stuck his own thumb in his mouth and coated it liberally with saliva just so he could fuck Stiles' ass with the thick digit while _still_ continuing to massage and squeeze his balls. Basically torturing him. “You're only seventeen. In my opinion kids shouldn't be having sex any younger than that. No emotional maturity.”

“Peter, aaaaargh!” Stiles exclaimed suddenly, frustration and edgy anger and a near-guttural sound in his voice arching the older man's eyebrow. “Just... shut up and fuck me already!” Peter opened his mouth as if he were going to speak before clacking his teeth together and rolling his eyes up, giving a tilt of his head, gently pulling his thumb out of Stiles'.

“In a minute,” Peter replied, reaching out to drag blunt fingernails _hard_ along Stiles' back, moving them along the still slightly sore claw marks on the boy's skin, having every intent of breaking the scabs and opening the wounds again. They wouldn't bleed as freely as they did the first time, but Peter was more going for scars. He wanted his mark on Stiles, especially if he was right about what he thought was going to happen in the future. A little spiteful gesture to calm the small little bitter swirl in his stomach.

Stiles hissed in a breath and squirmed suddenly, jerking himself toward the table and instinctively away from the pain, but there was nowhere for him to go. So he just pressed his cheek back against the hot wood and endured the pain, because the initial sharp jolt to his body passed quickly, and when Peter dropped to a knee behind him and grabbed his ass-cheeks in two handfuls, Stiles was shocked that the thudding of his heartbeat didn't break the table in two.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...” Stiles gasped out, like a mantra, as he simultaneously felt both the sharp warning of claw-tips pricking against his ass and the hot, slick drag of a tongue against his tight, puckered asshole. His cock hung heavy and neglected between his thighs, twitching and leaking precum, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard before. He couldn't stop blushing and his skin was sheened with sweat because of it. The rain outside made it moist inside the loft, and the air was so thick with sex that even _Stiles_ could smell it.

Peter's clawed thumbs slid into the cleft of Stiles' ass and pulled at his hole, prying him open and scratching lightly over the incredibly sensitive flesh as the tip of his tongue teased firmly in it's wake, soothing the sharp pain. Prodding, pushing his tongue in passed the tight muscle, Peter fucked the boy's ass with the strongest muscle in the human body until Stiles couldn't stop squirming and shuddering, and was a pliant, whimpering mess all laid out on the table like the delicious little meal he was.

Stiles had no idea if he could come without having his dick touched but he thought maybe he already had, like a hundred times, because he was trembling and gasping and he could literally feel his heartbeat reverberating through the table and he couldn't stop rocking his hips and _holy fucking god_ , this was both shamefully humiliating and hot as fucking hell.

“Peter, _fuck_...” Stiles choked out between clenched teeth, fingers white-knuckling where they gripped the edges of the sides of the table, his thighs tense and a little sore, and the muscles in his calves straining as Peter kept him up on his toes. “God, please just... _please_...” he begged, hating that he was begging, but fuck it. He _needed_.

Peter at least had the decency not to quip, or maybe he was just as hungry as Stiles, but after a few more lazy drags of that wicked tongue he stood back up, hands massaging the twin globes of Stiles' ass before giving one of them a firm smack.

“Stay,” Peter ordered, his hand moving to rest in the center of Stiles' back with a firm press, and the boy just nodded, a soft sound catching in his throat. He wouldn't disobey, not if he wanted more. It was only moments later that Peter's presence returned, and two slick fingers prodded at Stiles hole, the boy shaking and whining a desperate, wordless plea as they pushed inside of him, thrusting slowly in and out, scissoring to stretch him and open him even more.

“Just say when,” Peter crooned, and Stiles hated him a little bit for the arrogance that laced the wolf's voice, but at the same time his tone shot straight through the boy, making his dick ache. Blunt human nails dug into the table as Stiles arched his back as much as he could, and with a heavy groan he pushed back hard against Peter's fingers, eyes rolling up into his head as he felt them bump against his prostate. Peter grinned and pushed his fingers in deeper, harder, knuckles denting into Stiles' firm ass as he pressed and rubbed against the gland, send Stiles into a tizzy of sobbing curses and trembling limbs.

“Now, _now_ , fuck me, _god_...” Stiles gasped, pleaded, and with no preamble Peter slipped his fingers out and pressed the slick, swollen head of his cock against Stiles stretched hole. A low rumble curled in Peter's throat as heat crawled and prickled his skin, his mind and senses heady with the scent of the boy, with the desperate want coming off of him in waves.

Peter gave no quarter as he grabbed Stiles by the hip with one hand, his grip firm and bruising ( _claiming, possessive; oh fuck, what would Derek say?_ ) as his other wrapped around his own cock, guiding himself before thrusting in _hard_. Peter _wanted_ it to hurt a little, to remind Stiles that they weren't lovers or even really friends. That this was about sex, blood, flesh, sweat, and that nasty little drop in your stomach when you thought about something you really wanted but shouldn't have. This was about everything else that _wasn't_ love. This was something primal. This was about vital, basic _need_.

Peter fucked Stiles hard, making sure the boy's hips would bruise against the edge of the table, making sure he lost his breath and couldn't do more than gasp and cry out with each heavy rock of the wolf's hips, the table pitching and wooden legs skittering a bit on the concrete floor with each powerful thrust. Peter thumbed over the re-opened wounds on Stiles' back, giving them only a single lick, but blunt teeth dug into Stiles' shoulder and Peter sucked firmly at the flesh and muscle, and Stiles knew Peter meant to mark him. The older man couldn't help himself; he thrived off of causing discord with Derek.

It would bother Stiles later, but right now, with those teeth on his flesh and the hot, painful friction of being so completely filled and used and wanted in this moment, Stiles couldn't think about anything else than the utter clean and pure pleasure he felt when Peter finally wrapped a lube-slicked hand around his dick. Stiles lasted maybe twenty seconds before his hips were bucking and jerking, raw-throated gasps misting the table with his breath as he came, shooting hard over the floor, into Peter's hand. The wolf who had claimed him practically _purred_ into his ear as he slicked Stiles' dick with his own come.

A few more thrusts, almost cruelly hard, now, and leaving Stiles breathless as he struggled not to feel faint because the edge of the table was pressing against his stomach and he couldn't catch his breath – _but fuck it was good, so so fucking good_ – and Peter came, and Stiles groaned a base, animal sound as he felt Peter's cock throbbing hard inside of him. He could _feel_ Peter's come, and it was lewd and disgusting and incredible, and Stiles felt something twist in his stomach and in his chest and he was terrified that he'd just become addicted to something more dangerous than any drug he could have ever snorted or shot up.

“Go take a shower,” Peter said after he pulled out, capable hands helping the weak-limbed and woozy boy to his feet, and Stiles just stared at him, his eyes unfocused and blinking, not accusing but as if to say 'you have to be fucking kidding if you think I'm going to be able to stand in there', but Peter just smirked and sent Stiles on his way with a pat to the ass. The kid toddled off like a baby deer and Peter half-assed cleaning up the come on the floor. He wanted Derek to know. It was all part of the fun.

–

Derek didn't come home that night, but Stiles slept in his bed anyway. Peter didn't sleep, he just sat up on the couch all night, reading in dim light, eyes occasionally trailing between the windows and the door, vaguely wondering when his family was going to come back to him.

Whether for the sake of mischief or because he honestly just missed his pack, Peter really couldn't even tell himself. And regardless of whether Stiles was still here because he was waiting for Derek or just too sore to move, that didn't much matter, either, because at least tonight Peter wasn't alone.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/) . [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxied) . [policy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/profile)


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